


An Art to War: Echoes in the Darkness

by GuileandGall



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bets & Wagers, F/M, Friendship, Lyrium Withdrawal, mutual respect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 03:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12572536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuileandGall/pseuds/GuileandGall
Summary: At Cassandra’s request, Herah speaks with her commander in order to settle the question of his replacement.





	An Art to War: Echoes in the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amarmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarmeme/gifts).



**An Art to War: Echoes in the Darkness**

_“Treat your men as you would your own beloved sons. And they will follow you into the deepest valley.”_

_—Sun Tzu, The Art of War_

Herah’s long stride carried her across the courtyard of Skyhold. The ringing of swords sang in the crisp breeze blowing in from the surrounding peaks of the Frostback Mountains. The thick soles of her boots scuffed against the stone as her mind raced. She could understand the commander’s worry, but she agreed with Cassandra’s assessment. Her own measurement of the situation did not align with Cullen’s request to be relieved. The strength of his rapport with the troops set him apart from any other officer, herself and Bull included. Cullen had the troops’ respect, devotion, and loyalty; his shadow stretched long over the forces and could not be easily overcome or taken up by another. This she knew from experience.

Leading with her shoulder, the inquisitor pushed through the door to his office. Her steps stopped cold as wood and glass splintered against the wall to her left. A half smile curved her lip upward as she looked from splinters and sparkling shards of glass to the man straightening behind the table.

“I—” he started. “Inquisitor, apologies. I wasn’t expecting … anyone.”

“Clearly,” she replied, leaning against the threshold. “Otherwise, I hope, your aim would have been better.”

A barking laugh burst from his chest. “Judging from the cut on your cheek, I must not have been completely off the mark.”

Heavily scarred fingers brushed at the trickle oozing down her cheek. The hint of her own red blood split her full lips in a wide toothy grin. “So, it seems, Commander.” She called him that intentionally. As leader of the Inquisition, she prepared herself mentally to use her title to get her way with her own friends for the first time, if necessary. It was a card she only rarely played, but she would use it here if he forced her to.

The qunari stalked into the room, closing the door behind herself. The shards of glass scraped between the stone and the wood of the door, the sound as grating on the nerves as it was on the eardrums. Neither of them spoke initially—Cullen more for contemplation, Herah in patience.

“I never meant for this to interfere,” Cullen finally said, breaking the silence.

In all their conversations, he always shied away from talking of his past, of his time in the Ferelden Circle of Magi during the Blight. But as suddenly as his lyrium kit shattered against the wall, he had fallen into that old darkness, spinning the inquisitor a tale of the death and torture he suffered in that place. His words came fast, thoughts spiraling like a whirlpool. It wove into his relocation to Kirkwall as well, and the events of that tragedy. Despite the rush of it, Herah kept up, giving him the ear he seemed to crave at the moment.

“Can’t you see why I’d want to leave that life behind?” Cullen finally asked, halting and turning to meet her gaze.

“Of course,” Herah agreed, her low voice rumbling in her chest from lack of use. The sound seemed to surprise him as much as it jarred her.

He blinked at her, then shook his head. “You should be questioning what I’ve done.”

Cullen’s argument followed the same path she overheard in the barracks with Cassandra. He feared his attempts to break the templar leash took too much, left him less than fit to lead—left his contribution lacking. “I thought this would be better. That I would regain some control over my life, but these thoughts won’t leave me. How many lives depend on our success?” he asked, or perhaps accused was more accurate.

Herah knew she was merely a bystander in this conversation he seemed to be having with more with himself as he paced between his desk and the bookcases against the wall.

“I swore myself to this cause,” he shouted with the fervor fit a commander. “I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry. I should be taking it,” he muttered, before his fist landed a blow against the defenseless bookshelf. “I should be taking it,” he whispered again.

Herah, never the emotional type, laid a hand on his shoulder. The tight grip and not inconsiderable weight of her large hand drew his attention and silenced his raving. “This doesn’t have to be about the Inquisition. Is that what you want?” Her keen gray eyes bored into his and held his gaze as tightly as if she had grasped it with those strong clawed hands of hers.

He stared at her, silent. Then he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. “No. But these memories have always haunted me. If they become worse …” His head shook, a sign of the battle raging in his head, behind his amber eyes. “If I cannot endure this… .”

When he started to turn from her, Herah took his shoulders one in each hand, giving him a gentle shake. Her voice was deadly serious as she gave him a curt nod. “We all have memories which haunt us. Though I will agree that yours are likely more harrowing than most of mine. But you can endure. This Chantry _leash_ ,” she said with a dramatic sneer, “can be broken. _You_ can break it.” She left out the bit Cassandra mentioned about him being an example to the other templars—that wouldn’t help him face this singular and very personal challenge. It might even make it more daunting to place the weight of all his brethren upon his shoulders.

“Cullen, it has not been easy, and it won’t get easier. But, lucky for you, you’re not alone. You’ve got friends to help you through this.” She smacked him on the upper arm and gave him a mischievous smirk, one far more familiar to the exchanges she shared with Bull and Sera than her straitlaced commander.

He blinked at her, his drawn features relaxing as a soft smile played across his lips. “You are right,” his hand tightened around her forearm as he gave her a slow nod.

That earned another clap on the shoulders as she helped him straighten his posture a bit. “Good to hear it. And I’ll have no more talk of replacements. Else I’ll have to throw my weight around.”

Cullen just chuckled at her, as he rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Considerable as it is,” she said. It widened his smile more, but the human still looked paler than usual, tired, with dark circles ringing his warm golden eyes. “You should get out to the field more. All this stewing in your office is making you pale,” she counseled as she dropped into the chair opposite his desk.

“Yes, well. With the growth of our forces and new allies coming to aid every day, there is far more to concern myself with here than the daily training of the men.”

“Vashedan! Bullshit!” The word and its translation were said with the casualness of any other word she might have chosen. Herah made a show of inspecting one of her fingernails when she said it. “We are warriors, Cullen. Desks don’t suit us. Swords do.”

He grinned at her as he leaned on his desk.

Adaar stood and mimicked his stance. “I’m heading out this afternoon to the Hinterlands. If I don’t hear recruits whining about having been bested by their aged commander when I return, I’ll drag you into the ring myself.”

“Aged?” Cullen shot back, standing and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Come now, let’s not kid ourselves. Or at least you shouldn’t,” she teased. “Though I’ve heard delusions are common in elder humans.”

The commander’s head dropped back, and rich, deep laughter flooded the room—a mix of his and hers. “Get out of my office, _Inquisitor_ ,” he said, making sure to add a hint of playful deference to the last word.

“Hold down the fort while I’m gone.”

“I always do,” he reminded as she slipped out the door, leaving him to his reports and plans.

Herah Adaar crossed the walkway and remembered why she’d detoured to the barracks in the first place. Picking up her pace, she jogged back across the yard, a few people scrambling out of the way of the tall thickly muscled qunari. The inquisitor never gave off the impression of a person to be trifled with, even less so when she was focused on a task. Now that Cullen and Cassandra had cleared out of the barracks, the soldiers had returned.

She found Krem easily and leaned on the upper bunk above where he lay with his hands behind his head and eyes closed. When he didn’t acknowledge her looming, Herah kicked the side of the bed, rattling it.

“What’s the big—? Oh!” Krem sat up quickly. “Inquisitor. What brings you down here?”

“You owe me.”

He stood and reached for a sheathed broadsword hanging from a peg nearby. “You could have just taken it. You didn’t have to wake me.”

Her smile was crooked, bordering on playful, once more. “But that was half the fun.” She pulled the blade part way from the scabbard. It looked well-tended—oiled and sharpened—as promised.

“Next time, remember your manners,” Krem said with a laugh as he sat up on the edge of the bed.

A rumble rose in Adaar’s chest, and she bent at the waist, bringing herself nose to nose with the Tevinter mercenary. “And next time we play cards, bring more gold.” Herah patted his cheek twice then straightened.

Exiting the barracks, her next stop was her own quarters. She had to finish up her preparations to leave. Certainly, the Hinterlands weren’t in quite as bad of shape as they had been, but there were reports of bandits and Carta skulking about. It needed to be looked into, like everything else, she thought with a snorted sigh.

**Author's Note:**

> Written to as a treat for @amarmeme for the 2017 Black Emporium Rare Pare Exchange. I was unable to include this moment in the other piece I wrote to fulfill the assignment, so I write this treat as a thank you for launching this rare pair into my orbit.


End file.
